


found by chance

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien's the Love Interest, Alternate Universe, Extraordinary You (2019), F/M, Fantasy, Identity Issues, Marinette's an Extra, Romance, Slow Burn, The World Belongs to Chloé
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: A girl trapped in a made-up world tries to break free and find a reason for living when nothing around her makes sense. Without a name, no home to return to, and her body moving against her will, she learns to enjoy the small things. AU.(an extra in a comic book wakes up without an identity.)
Relationships: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Comments: 30
Kudos: 78





	1. 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i recently had a phase of binge-watching k-dramas and that led me to being incredibly disappointed with _extraordinary you_. the premise??? fantastic!! wow!!!! love it!!!!!! the execution??? terrible i want all my hours watching it back. it left me with more questions than answers. 
> 
> dumbed down, the plot is basically: a girl becomes aware that she's an extra in a comic book and wants to change her fate. the male lead is a side character that has no name, so now that's marinette! his situation was 100% more interesting than the main girl dhlkjdhfj
> 
> haru deserved better so let's see if i can do that

A clicking sound came from within the classroom.

And as soon as she heard that, she realised that there was something wrong with her body.

She tried to move, to do so much as lift a finger—

She couldn't.

There was no panicked increase in her heartbeat, her breaths weren't coming out faster as she got more worried with every passing moment, and she couldn't even blink.

Well, that wasn't quite right.

She _could_ blink—she was. It wasn't when she wanted to.

She couldn't concentrate and try and force it; rather, it happened at a natural rate as she stayed sat in her seat, staring instead of writing down the answers to the test in front of her.

It lasted for minutes on end before she finally picked up her pen and started to scribble down on the paper—

Only it wasn't her that was doing it.

It felt like she was being pulled along, limbs moving without her consent with familiar ease, and she couldn't so much as breathe in sharply from surprise.

The best way to explain it was that her body was on auto-pilot.

There was no moving her head, so she could only glance side-to-side to see whether there was anything else that was out of place. No one was paying attention to her; class-mates were busy with their tests and the teacher was watching from the front, so there wasn't anyone that would recognise her panic.

She looked fine on the outside.

To her confusion, the answers being written down were wrong.

There was nothing she could do to correct it.

When the bell rang, signalling that class was over, there was a loud noise mingled in with it.

Her body snapped back into her command.

She stood up on shaky legs, staring down at her hands as she spread her fingers.

They were responding just fine.

It seemed like all the panic hit her at once; the twisting of her stomach, the dryness of her mouth, and she barely made it to the nearest toilet to throw up.

There wasn't anyone there to ask if she was okay.

Running her fingers through her hair and pulling at the roots, the pain helped to ground her a bit. The actions were purely her own, the erratic beating of her heart was because of her thoughts, and the shaky hands were a tell-tale sign that she wasn't in the best way mentally.

She breathed out—

* * *

There was a click.

She was in the lunch hall.

Baffled, she tried to look around, horrified to realise that only her eyes could move.

Moments ago, she'd been sat on top of the toilet, trying to say that everything was okay.

It wasn't.

She watched as other students went about their lunch break, either carrying trays to sit down or taking their food outside. And instead of joining any of them, she was awkwardly standing there the entire time with her back against the wall, feeling completely out of place.

There was the distinct feeling of hunger from her stomach.

She didn't get to eat.

And throughout it all, no one looked at her.

* * *

Another loud sound.

She was in front of the school.

But that didn't—

It didn't make _sense_. She'd been in the lunch hall!

And yet, that didn't matter when her body was moving on auto-pilot, pausing outside the entrance gates to kneel down and re-tie her shoes.

When had they come undone?

She didn't have a chance to ponder that before her body was walking again, making her way through the halls.

When her eyes watered, it was because of her yawning, not her panic.

Her body wasn't listening to her. There was no control as she sat in her desk in the middle of the room—one of the only ones without someone beside her—and waited for the teacher to arrive, realising belatedly that the clock on the wall was wrong.

It should've been past noon, not early in the morning.

And yet, it read that it was time for morning registration, not in the afternoon after lunch.

Her class-mates were talking and laughing and all their noise was only making her feel worse. Mentally, that was. Her body seemed perfectly fine, if not a bit tired from all the yawning.

Miss Bustier arrived, hushing the class into silence.

Names were called for registration.

“Adrien?”

Unlike her other class-mates, she wasn't slumped over or comfortable. She had her bag down on the floor by her legs, sat upright in her seat, hands folded on her lap obediently.

“Yes, here!”

There were a few giggles throughout the room.

“Chloé?” Miss Bustier called.

There was a grumbled reply of, “Here.”

She was familiar with them, of course.

After being accepted to the secondary school, they were sorted into form groups for registration amongst their year. They'd been together all throughout, sitting down each morning and afternoon to check attendance.

And—

And why couldn't she remember when her name got called?

There was more laughter.

Although she couldn't turn around to see where it was coming from, the voices were familiar. Of course they were—they'd spent a few minutes a day together for years at a minimum because of their form, hours of other classes included in if they'd been put into the same classrooms.

Her body wasn't reflecting her panic.

Because she—

She didn't know what her name was.

Miss Bustier carried on, completely unaware of her distress. “Nino?”

That wasn't—

* * *

A loud click.

She couldn't flinch.

There was something wrong.

Her memory was fuzzy, though her body seemed to be in good condition—if not being in control of it counted as that.

It was her mind that wasn't functioning properly.

She couldn't remember specific details of her life. And the fact that she didn't know how she travelled from place-to-place, skipping through the days at a frantic pace, was horribly concerning.

There wasn't anyone that she could turn to when she couldn't _move—_

It wasn't a classroom that time.

She was in a supermarket with a basket in her hand, inspecting the ingredients of a can. And even without her reading it, her body placed it into the basket, seeming to find it acceptable.

How would her brain comprehend the text if she was moving her eyes to the side?

It didn't matter, apparently.

There wasn't anything special about that time, just like all the others. She was experiencing an out of body experience while doing something as mundane as shopping.

She didn't know how she got there.

And she—

Did she live nearby?

There was a faint memory of where the supermarket was located, but her brain was fuzzy when she tried to recall her home. It was the same as when she'd tried to remember her name; no recollections popping up that would help her to understand what was happening.

That was missing like her time, then.

Instead of paying for the ingredients, she put the basket down and left.

And as she walked outside, she looked around—as well as she could—to see if there were any signs to help tell her where she was. It didn't matter to her body that moved with familiarity, not phased in the slightest by her inner-panic, but even a small bit of knowledge would've been reassuring.

There was a large parking lot out front.

It wasn't a small neighbourhood shop.

She was moving to the left.

* * *

The loud noise felt like someone had clapped beside her ear loudly.

“Your test scores are in!” the teacher happily announced, gesturing to their desk with a flourish. “It took me two weeks, but I finally got round to it.”

Two _weeks_?

It was fine.

She was _fine_.

There was nothing to suggest that it was the same test she remembered taking what seemed like _hours_ ago. It could've been something from her missing time, even if it was the same classroom that she'd been sat in before.

If nothing was making sense anyway, why should this be something she knew?

It wasn't until the end of the lesson that the tests were handed out. She'd sat stiffly through the whole class unable to move, not even tapping her foot nervously as she wrote out notes.

The teacher didn't call out names. Instead, they walked around, placing the papers on everyone's desks, offering only brief and positive feedback on their way.

When the paper appeared for her, no words were said.

The wrong answers she recognised from before were now circled in red pen.

Her body picked the test up, holding it with two hands.

She didn't look at the encouraging comments scribbled down from the teacher.

Her eyes were the only part in her control.

There was no dramatic intake of breath, no gasp escaping her lips, and nothing to suggest how shocked she was when she glanced up at the top of the page.

She didn't have a name written down.

* * *

It happened ten more times.

The best way to describe it was that she blinked and became aware that her surroundings had changed without explanation. There was no disorientation, no adapting to the new surroundings, and her body seemed perfectly healthy despite how much she was panicking in her mind.

She couldn't see a doctor when she wasn't in control.

Unlike the other day—week or month, it was hard to keep track of time at all—she didn't regain the ability to move. She couldn't have another breakdown in the toilet and be late for class.

That's if she even made it to class in the first place when that was a part of her lost time.

She was terrified.

Her body didn't feel like it was her own, she didn't know where she was half of the time, and she didn't know her _name—_

She knew her class-mates.

Even without listening to snippets throughout the days of teachers calling out for attendance at the start of each class, she knew little things.

There was one girl that had dyed her hair red the previous year and had been sent to see the headmaster. She'd been suspended for two days and had to dye her hair back a natural colour.

She could recall that a guy she only had maths class with had once participated in a talent show in primary school, singing his heart out before being embarrassed and snapping at anyone that brought it up afterwards.

If she had memories that far back, why couldn't she remember the details about herself?

It didn't matter that she knew about others bragging about their phone cases, what their parents had bought for them, or where they'd gone on holiday over break—

 _Holiday_?

“I can't believe we're already back here,” Chloé complained loudly, slumping forward onto her desk. “I slept in until, like, noon for the past week.”

Chloé was sat in front of her.

Alya—the girl who'd dyed her hair red before—laughed. “I thought you went to your house in the countryside?”

She'd missed a break, then.

Other than the supermarket, she'd always been in the school.

“Yeah, why do you think I was sleeping in?” Chloé replied. “I was so _bored_. There's nothing out there!”

Alya snickered. “That's what your parents wanted.”

“To bore me to death?”

While she couldn't even lift a finger, she had to listen to gossip. That was what her life had amounted to now.

She wanted to cry.

Her face was blank instead of showing her emotions.

Alya nudged Chloé with her elbow. “That time away give you the inspiration to finish your plan?”

“Alya!” Chloé hissed, sharply turning her head to the side to see if anyone had overheard. “Shut up.”

Chloé hadn't even looked at her.

“What?” Alya questioned. “I'm doing you a favour.”

“Bitch, _no_.”

“This is our last year!” Alya whispered loudly back. “And you haven't even gotten his number. What are you _doing_?”

Chloé retorted, “Pining.”

She hated this more with every passing second.

Throughout it all, no one had spoken to her. The teachers never said anything when they placed something on her desk, none of her class-mates were ever sat beside her in class, and she was questioning her existence with each passing second.

It was a living nightmare.

There was that loud noise again.

Her shoulders slumped, body crumbling from the stiff position she'd been sitting in before, and she ran a hand roughly over her face to feel something.

She was in control.

There was the question for how long she would be.

Her hands started to shake as she squeezed her eyes shut, wanting nothing more for the blackness to stay over her vision—because that was better than the ever-changing surroundings that she'd been seeing for so long.

She didn't know her _name_.

The desk felt cool against her face.

And as the bell rang, she stayed there, slumped against the desk as her class-mates chatted and left the room to get to their first lesson.

No one spoke to her.

She cried.

Three things were true; she was aware, she was in control of her body, and she was absolutely miserable.

“Miss?”

Her head snapped up.

Miss Bustier was looking at her in concern.

“I think you're in the wrong classroom,” Miss Bustier said, getting a pack of tissues out of the desk and awkwardly passing one to her. “I can write you a note for your teacher to explain your delay, if you'd like.”

She sniffled loudly.

Miss Bustier gave her a polite smile. “Your name?”

This was her teacher.

She'd sat in her classroom for years for registration, and yet—

“My name?” she croaked out.

Miss Bustier nodded.

Her throat felt tight. “You don't know my name?”

“I don't,” Miss Bustier confirmed, putting another tissue in front of her. “And I'm pretty good at remembering faces. Maybe you'll be in one of my classes next year.”

Her voice came out as a whisper. “I'm in your class.”

It earned her a confused smile. “I'm sorry?”

She started crying more.

* * *

It was November.

She knew that because Chloé and Alya were chattering away on what to get Chloé's crush for his birthday at the end of the month.

With the classrooms swapping without warning, she started to notice little things.

When she came back to noticing her surroundings, there was always a loud noise. It didn't seem to be from anywhere in particular; it had happened in different classrooms, outside in the field for PE, and even at the supermarket.

No one else reacted to it.

Or—

Were they like her?

She desperately wanted to know if anyone else was experiencing what she was.

Although it was rare, there were times where the sound played again, a sound clap that echoed in her head, and that was when she could move her body freely.

And instead of crying and breaking down, the last time she'd fumbled to try and find her phone, only to just grasp it from the bottom of her bag as time jumped.

It had to be an illness.

She'd seen shows about it before. Main characters with an illness, mental or not, that managed to damage their memory. There was even one instance she'd read about someone leaving notes because they were missing time, only for it to be a gas leak of some sort—

Why could she remember that but not anything about herself?

As soon as she could move, she ripped a piece of paper off, scribbling down the time from the clock at the front of the classroom.

She shoved it in her blazer pocket.

It took two more flickers until she regained mobility.

The paper wasn't there any more and she didn't know what date it was.

And rather than dwell on that, she jumped out of her seat, catching the closest class-mate by their wrist to stop them from leaving the room.

It was Chloé; tall and pretty with natural blonde hair that she always bragged about whenever someone else bleached their hair.

Chloé turned to look at her, ripping her wrist from her grip. “What the fuck?”

She questioned, “Do you know who I am?”

Chloé's expression turned to one of disgust. “No, now leave me alone.”

“You don't?” she persisted, awkwardly standing in front of her to block her from leaving. “We're in a lot of the same classes—”

Instead of shoving her out of the way, Chloé sighed. “What do you want?”

“I sat behind you just now,” she pointed out.

“That means nothing to me,” Chloé replied without hesitation.

“We have the same form tutor,” she stated.

Chloé scoffed. “And I'd care about that _why_?”

She blinked.

“Move,” Chloé demanded.

“Wait, I—”

Chloé really did push her out of the way for that.

It was worth a try, at least. The failure didn't mean that she was going to give up.

Stubbornly, when she regained function in the next class, she turned around, spotting Chloé sitting two tables back, happily chatting with her friend.

The teacher was at the desk at the front, not paying attention to their antics. Her class-mates were chatting loudly, barely doing their work, and that didn't seem to be a problem.

So, she scrunched up a piece of paper, forming it into a ball before she purposely threw it towards Chloé.

It wasn't Chloé that she hit.

Adrien's head snapped up as he touched his cheek, looking around the room quizzically for the culprit.

He was a better choice than Chloé.

Adrien's reputation was good; he was kind, went out of his way to help others even if he was bad at it—such as him joining the basketball team when they'd lost a member—and he was friendly with almost everyone. Even the other years were familiar with him, and he was usually the teacher's choice to select to help give tours around the school for potential new students.

He knew a lot of people.

Would he know her?

She raised her hand to get his attention, mouthing that she was sorry.

His confused expression grew.

Adrien held up the ball of paper and pointed at it.

She nodded.

It only made him more confused.

She didn't know how to feel about that.

Although the teacher didn't seem to care about them talking, that didn't mean she could get up and walk to the back of the room to talk with someone else. All the others were in their seats and talking to who they were already beside, so she'd have to wait.

Unless—

Unless time wasn't on her side and she'd experience blank spots once more.

Luckily for her, she was able to stay conscious until the end of the lesson. A glance at the clock proved that it was time for their first break, meaning that it had been her second class for that day.

She hadn't noticed that.

Luck was on her side once more.

After placing her bag on her lap and started to pack away her belongings—in which she had a new pencil case that she hadn't remembered getting—Adrien came to stand beside her, his own backpack hanging off one of his shoulders.

There was still confusion in his voice as he held out the paper ball. “I believe this is yours?”

“Thanks,” she said, taking it and awkwardly placing it into her bag. “That's my most precious possession.”

He let out a laugh. “Is it?”

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked, going for a less of an aggressive approach than she had with Chloé. And when he nodded, she elaborated, “Do you know who I am?”

He tilted his head. “Are you new?”

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. “No.”

Adrien squinted. “Really?”

“I'm in your form,” she admitted. “I sit behind Chloé.”

He made a surprised noise. “Oh, you do?”

She nodded.

“I—sorry,” he awkwardly replied, running his fingers through his hair. “I don't think I've ever seen you before.”

That wasn't the first person to tell her that, was it? Miss Bustier, Chloé, and now Adrien—they were all people that she had a recollection of spending years with, regardless of the missing time that was adding up.

“Right,” she said, standing up fast enough for her chair to squeak against the floor. Her eyes were watering and her throat was starting to feel tight. “I should—I should go.”

“Hang on—” Adrien called out. “Wait a minute!”

Her hands were shaking as she opened the door.

He jogged after her, sounding ever-so-close as he asked, “What's your name?”

Teary-eyed, she looked over her shoulder at him. “I don't know.”

He opened his mouth to respond—

* * *

There was a click.

She couldn't move again.

It was time for PE.

Although they were indoors, the standard shorts of the uniform were cold. She couldn't pull her socks up for some warmth, so she was stuck standing on the sidelines while the rest of her class were busy playing basketball.

They were usually separated by gender.

That day, the boys were playing with the girls, mixed in with together and split into two matches on different sides of the gymnasium. One team on each side had a vest on top of their uniform shirt to stand out instead of having it be versus the other gender.

She couldn't glance down to see if she had one on.

The sounds of the basketball hitting the floor, the squeaks of shoes, laughter and chatter filled the room while she was stuck standing there stiffly, legs growing tired from being there for so long.

She was tired.

There was a scream.

Her head moved so she could see that a ball had hit Chloé in the face, resulting in blood trickling down from her nose, falling down onto the red vest that she was wearing.

Adrien was immediately beside her. “I'm so sorry! I was trying to pass—”

“Fuck you,” Chloé snapped, holding her nose.

Mr. D'Argencourt told Chloé off for her language before asking Adrien to escort her to the nurse.

“No, I—” Chloé tried to say, making a strangled sort of noise when Adrien lifted up her vest to her nose to catch the blood. “You don't need to.”

“It's my fault,” Adrien said, smile not reaching his eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

Chloé's face was red.

The two of them were shooed through the doors.

And Mr. D'Argencourt had fetched some tissues to clear up the blood, he clapped his hands and said that they'd resume the game on her side with two players missing.

Of course, she was ignored.

It was near the end of class that the loud click happened.

She sat down on the floor, frowning.

No one else had changed behaviour; they were all still playing, Mr. D'Argencourt was paying attention to each of the games equally, and she seemed to be the only one that noticed that anything was off.

“Sir!” she called out, holding her hand up.

Mr. D'Argencourt looked at her in confusion. “When did you get here?”

She frowned. “I've been here all along.”

“You can't be skipping classes like that,” he chastised, putting his hands on his hips. “I'll have to report you for that—”

Bitter, she snapped, “Let me guess, you need my name?”

“Yes, actually,” he said, offended by her attitude. “And if you're going to get stroppy with me, I'll give you detention.”

She snorted. “I'm in your class.”

“You are, yes,” Mr. D'Argencourt agreed. “What year are you in?”

“This one,” she said.

“I don't appreciate being lied to,” he replied, looking every bit the stern teacher that he'd been when shouting out the rules during the games. “What is your name?”

She flopped back against the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

“Miss!” he called.

She ignored him.

* * *

There had to be some sort of mistake.

“Excuse me?” Miss Bustier questioned, giving her a polite smile. “I don't think you're in the right room. This one's empty until next period.”

She looked up from the desk, tired. “What time is it?”

“Time for your first lesson,” Miss Bustier responded. “If you run along now, you might make it in time.”

“Day?” she asked.

Miss Bustier frowned. “Why don't you check your timetable?”

“Wow, what a great idea,” she remarked, slumping back down on the desk instead of following that simple suggestion. “Do you even know my name, Miss Bustier?”

“I'll definitely remember it after this,” Miss Bustier responded, knees clicking as she kneeled down in front of her table. “Are you okay? There's always the school counsellor you can see if you're having troubles.”

She exhaled audibly. “You don't know me, do you?”

“I do not.”

“You're my form tutor,” she told her. “I've sat in this classroom twice a day for years. I'm also in your class—”

“You're mistaken,” Miss Bustier said.

She laughed.

“What class are you supposed to be in?” Miss Bustier asked. “I can write a note to explain your... lateness.”

She shook her head.

It earned her a frown. “Miss—”

* * *

Another click.

It was the same classroom before. The clock on the wall proved that it was early morning, minutes before Miss Bustier usually arrived to take their attendance and tell them any important news, and the realisation that she'd lost so many hours had started to become less horrifying.

The best way to describe it was that she felt numb. It was on a never-ending loop with her appearing in different places, no fuzziness or disorientation in her body while it was out of her control, and any time that she tried to reach out for help—

They all asked who she was.

That's what she wanted to ask them.

From in front of her, Chloé and Alya were leaned towards each other, whispering loudly. “Did you get your invitation?”

Alya beamed. “I got the text last night. What did you say?”

She couldn't do anything but sit there stiffly, head slightly down as she'd come into awareness staring down at the table.

“Yes, of course!” Chloé exclaimed, whipping her head around to see if anyone else had heard her. “I don't know what to buy him. It has to be memorable for him to notice me, right?”

Alya snickered. “Your nosebleed was enough for that.”

Chloé whacked her arm. “Shut up! You try getting hit in the face—”

“No, thanks,” Alya denied. “I'll leave that to you. I'd rather not break my glasses, thanks.”

“I almost broke my nose!”

“The nurse said you didn't,” Alya pointed out. “You're just being dramatic.”

Chloé sniffed. “Dramatic is my regular state of being.”

“I don't think money's the way into his heart,” Alya mused. “Maybe... don't go over the top?”

Chloé scoffed. “Why not?”

“Because you have literally no concept of money,” Alya replied. “You spent, like, _hundreds_ on my gift.”

“So?”

“So!” Alya exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “That's not normal! You're about the only person here that has a freaking holiday home, or talk about having a nanny!”

“She's an au pair,” Chloé haughtily corrected.

“Whatever, same thing,” Alya replied with a roll of her eyes. “You're too rich for your own good.”

Why did it _matter_?

She was having an identity crisis while these two were bickering about Chloé's love-life. It was one of the worst ways to be stuck, though having to stand up in PE for a long period of time without so much as shifting her feet was still in the number one spot.

The sound happened.

Her body snapped back into her command.

She stood up abruptly, chair hitting the desk behind in her haste, and made her way through the row to go up to the teacher's desk at the front. There were a few questions about what she was doing, but she was too busy rushing to take into account what they were saying.

Her time was limited, she knew that now.

The drawers weren't locked.

She opened it up, a surge of victory rushing through her as she found the attendance sheet.

Skimming through the names, reading each of them and matching them up to the faces in front of her, she'd made it to the bottom before Miss Bustier came in.

There wasn't a name for her.

And after counting the names, everyone else but her was included on it.

Instead of crying, she was angry.

* * *

“What's your name, kid?” the monitor asked in the lunch hall after she'd lagged behind instead of rushing off for class.

It didn't surprise her.

“Are you lost?” another teacher asked, looking at her with that perplexed expression that she was slowly growing used to. “I think you're in the wrong section. Where are you supposed to be?”

It didn't make her cry.

Miss Bustier tilted her head. “You're not in my form.”

None of it made _sense—_

“Who the hell are you?” Chloé snapped, looking at her like she was dirt on the bottom of her shoe. “You're in my way, move.”

The reaction wasn't only from one of them. If so, it could've be written off as a bad memory. Yet it seemed that no matter how many times she had the same conversation—such as insisting to Miss Bustier that she was, in fact, in her class—the very next time she could move freely, that person had forgotten it completely.

It was like she didn't exist.

And everyone else—

They were happy, going along without any big troubles. The biggest problem was petty fights and teenage angst.

She tried to keep count of what day and time it was.

Yet, when she came to, the page was missing from her notebook.

She attempted to write it on her planner, only for it to be erased and back in pristine condition the next time.

It shouldn't have been possible—

There was no denying that it made as much sense as her pencil case changing and her consciousness flickering in and out while her body seemed to be under someone else's control, so who was she to say that scribbles disappearing wasn't normal?

How could she be a judge of that when she didn't even remember her own _name_?

She might've gone mad.

That would explain the laugher that bubbled out of her. Her class-mates gave her concerned glances, whispers erupting through the classroom, and the teacher quickly told them to be quiet.

What was the point of class when she was forced to write the answers down wrong when it came to tests?

If she wasn't in control of her body permanently, why should she waste away in the classroom?

She grabbed her things, rushing out before anyone could stop her.

She ran through the hallways.

And when she was greeted with the cold air of the outside world, she realised she'd forgotten her coat back in the classroom.

It didn't matter.

The gates weren't locked at the entrance. She ran out without looking back, the burn of her lungs welcome. Because the discomfort meant that she was _living—_

It was her choice.

She was the one in control right then.

She ran until she was red in the face, almost falling over as she placed her hands onto her knees, breathing deeply. Her heart was beating fast, she was sweating, and her uniform was sticking to her horribly.

And yet, it was the best she'd felt in ages.

She wanted the moment to last forever.

There was a wallet at the bottom of her bag. It had enough money for her to buy an ice-pop from a corner shop.

And as she sucked on that, savouring the taste of the obnoxiously blue-coloured treat, she turned on her phone.

She didn't have any contacts.

The recent calls were blank, the texts were only from her provider, and there was no e-mail linked up to her account. Along with that, the photo album was blank, leaving no information about her to be found.

Even the background of the phone was a default one.

The disappointment she felt was becoming less and less with every dead-end.

She didn't have a name, had no home to return to, and absolutely no one recognised her. The crumpled pieces of paper and notes left behind disappeared when she next became aware, conversations were forgotten, and she—

She was alone.

“I'm here,” she whispered, placing a hand over her chest, able to feel her heartbeat. “I'm real.”

It was becoming harder to convince herself of that.

* * *

Tests called for extreme measures.

For first period, the lesson of that day was Art. She purposely poured some water into her little pot of paint, mixing it up before dumping it over her outfit.

There were the usual exclamations of asking who she was and what she was doing there.

Time skipped to lunch.

She was standing in the dining hall, no food in her arms as she watched everyone else eat. Her body was frozen, so she was unable to confirm that her uniform wasn't covered in paint.

Thirty minutes later, she could.

It was gone.

And when she asked another student which day it was, it confirmed that it really was the same day.

It was so... strange.

Then again, _everything_ was. How did this really change anything at all?

She started to get more and more daring.

From ripping her pencil case, snipping the strap of her backpack, to going as far as to roughly hack at her hair while everyone looked at her in horror—

None of it worked.

It was still November.

She couldn't grow back inches of hair in a couple of days.

If everything reverted to how it was before she could move her body freely—

It meant that she didn't matter.

Everyone forgot her existence and anything she did to them because she was irrelevant in the eyes of the world. There was no record of her attending the school, no family to her non-existent name, and her only purpose seemed to be to attend school wordlessly.

There had to be a reason.

Something, _anything—_

If she didn't matter, she was going to find out what did.

There was nothing she could write down with, so it left her memory as her only ally—which was concerning considering that's what had made her realise that something was happening at all.

She started to pay more attention to her surroundings; or, more specifically who she was around whenever she snapped back into being a puppet. There had to be some sort of a trigger that caused it to happen.

It wasn't a simple case of her forgetting things any more.

For the most part, the majority of students around her when she was unable to move were from her form. As there were only four forms, it was understandable that they'd be mixed together in classes, even if it was decided by their grades.

It raised the question how she was there to begin with if there was no name on the attendance. And yet, when she opened her eyes to a desk where she sat alone, she was given an extra test that shouldn't be there when it was passed out, and the teachers graded her homework—that she never saw herself handing in, let alone _doing—_ so there was something at play.

She existed.

It was the little things that proved it.

And maybe it wasn't that bad that she never participated in PE or that she was never called on in class. Even while she was being a puppet, it gave her time to think.

The common theme were her class-mates from her form.

Chloé, Alya, and Adrien were the most frequent. She hadn't seen either of them when she'd been at the supermarket, then again, she'd been too preoccupied to think about that back then.

Why did these three _matter_?

They had something that she didn't and that thought made her chest feel tight.

There was nothing of substance to their conversations; Chloé and Alya bickered and gossiped, spoke about Chloé's love-life, and Adrien was as friendly with them as he was with everyone else.

Chloé's crush on him was getting worse with every passing day.

That wasn't a surprise any more. She could remember hearing the two of them talk about Chloé's crush for years, knew that Chloé had still liked him even when he'd come in with a bad hair cut, and the fact that Adrien didn't treat Chloé any different was the biggest reason that Chloé had never tried to pursue him.

It was depressing to realise that she knew more about her class-mate's love-life than her own life.

She didn't know anything, so why should she listen to Chloé rambling about what she was going to wear to Adrien's birthday party?

“He's invited everyone, I think,” Alya mused. “If you show up with a push-up bra on, it'll get back to your parents and you'll get grounded.”

She wasn't invited.

Adrien didn't know she existed, of course.

Chloé made a disapproving noise. “But I'd look so _good_!”

“Good enough to be locked up for weeks?” Alya questioned.

“Maybe,” Chloé said. “It depends on whether he'll look down my shirt or not.”

“You're sounding very desperate,” Alya told her with a laugh. “I'm only saying this because I'm concerned. You're going to die of thirst one of these days.”

Chloé slumped forward, pressing her cheek against the desk.

“There, there,” Alya said, patting Chloé's shoulder. “Send me pictures later and I'll help you choose.”

Chloé mumbled, “You're the best.”

* * *

It was all about Chloé.

She was horrified with the revelation.

It was never for her to witness Alya alone. She'd come to realise that she'd never seen Adrien talking with his friends when the other two were absent, had never been in a room when all three of them were gone while she was being controlled—

The loud clicking noise happened when Chloé was there.

It was about _Chloé_ , her stuck-up class-mate who didn't understand the value of money. The very same girl who'd scoffed and tried to bribe someone to do her homework in their very first year before a teacher had caught wind of it.

She was on the sidelines, forced to stay still to watch Chloé's unrequited crush fester and grow with every passing day.

The times that she became aware, something happened to Chloé; thus far, she'd realised it was almost always a conversation with Alya about Adrien or a scene where Chloé interacted with him.

And she was there for a lot of them at school.

The only explanation for the supermarket had to be that one of them had been there.

To answer that question, she walked over to Chloé's desk and bluntly asked her whether she goes to the specific supermarket.

Chloé jumped. “What the hell? You scared me!”

“Do you?” she pressed.

Chloé squinted. “You think I go food shopping?”

She huffed. “Have you gone there?”

“I don't know?” Chloé replied, frowning. “Who even _are_ you?”

“Chloé?” Alya called out as she approached, giving her that same befuddled look. “What's up?”

She asked if Alya had taken Chloé to the supermarket.

“Oh, yeah!” Alya confirmed with a smile before it dimmed. “Why?”

That was all she needed to know.

There wasn't anything special about Chloé.

Chloé was loud, often distracting in class, and she wasn't the nicest person. Then again, a lot of people had their problems. The difference was all the others weren't the ones causing her life to become so muddled.

But what could she do?

Any changes she made disappeared when the sound happened; notes disappeared, physical changes reverted to how she'd been before, and that had to apply to other people, too.

There was only one way to confirm that.

Chloé and Alya were still looking at her strangely.

“Sorry about this,” she said, grimacing. “I need to confirm something.”

“What?” Chloé demanded.

She punched Chloé in the nose.

Alya shoved her back, causing her to stumble and fall against the desk behind her. Chloé had started to cry as she tried to stop the bleeding—

She ran away.

Her hand hurt.

* * *

A click.

She lost hours, skipping to the last lesson of the day.

Chloé was seated somewhere behind her, so she had to wait to inspect her. The good thing was that Chloé was so loud that she could hear her already, meaning she hadn't been sent home for the punch.

Because it would've been erased, surely.

“Chloé, stop distracting Adrien!” the teacher called out. “If you continue to, I'll have to move you.”

That was why she was a puppet, then.

It was at the end of class that the sound happened again.

She whipped her head around, staring at the back of the room.

Chloé's nose was fine. There was no redness, nothing to suggest that she'd been punched lately, and there was no blood on her clothing.

To double-check, she got up and stood in front of Chloé to question, “Did you get punched?”

Chloé was baffled. “What?”

She gestured to her nose, “Did you get punched in the face?”

“Are you calling me ugly?” Chloé demanded.

“It must've been someone else,” she said, taking a step back. “Sorry.”

The only explanation was that any changes outside of being a puppet didn't count; that they'd be reverted back to how they'd been set before.

It didn't matter what she did because it wasn't the original outcome.

And wasn't that _strange_?

It was all so messed up. There was no logical explanation to any of it, and the fact that she had no one to talk to made it even worse. She was alone in it, suffering and watching the same events revolving around Chloé play out without being able to do so much as lift a finger.

She ran out into the hallway.

And in her haste, she bumped into someone.

Her hands hurt again for a different reason.

“I'm so sorry!” Adrien hastily apologised, helping her up. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing's bleeding,” she replied.

“Oh, that's good,” he replied, relaxing. Then, he squinted at her and asked, “Do I know you?”

The laugh that left her wasn't sincere. “I don't expect you to.”

He tilted his head. “What does that mean?”

“I'm forgettable,” she said, stepping back and smoothing out her uniform. The dirt that had gotten onto her sleeves would be gone in the next scene. “Unlike you. Are you aware you're the teenage heartthrob in this school?”

He blinked. “What?”

She patted his shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Wait,” he called out, jogging to catch up to her. “What's your name?”

She stilled. “Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, confused. “Because I want to know. Is that so bad?”

“Tell you what,” she started, looking over her shoulder with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. “If you remember this conversation, I'll let you know.”

Adrien frowned. “Are we not in the same classes?”

She laughed. “That's the question, isn't it?”

“Okay, I'll look for you,” he agreed. “It won't be that hard. You stand out.”

No one had said that to her before. “I stand out?”

“You're—” Adrien trailed off, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Right.”

His ears were red. “I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” she replied.

“I'm sorry again,” he told her, shifting on the spot. “For knocking into you.”

“I was the one running,” she pointed out.

“Oh,” he breathed.

* * *

“Are you in this class?” Adrien questioned.

She opened her eyes from where she was slumped on the desk. It hadn't been long enough for her to fall asleep, but she'd been so fed up.

“I'm Adrien,” he offered.

“The bell just rang,” she pointed out. “You think I'd be here if I wasn't in this class?”

“I don't know,” he replied, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his chin. “I think I would've noticed you around.”

“You noticed me now,” she said.

He smiled. “I guess that's true?”

She closed her eyes.

Apparently, he didn't have any plans to leave. “It's break time.”

“I can't catch a break,” she mumbled, bitter. “Ever.”

“You'll miss it if you stay in here moping,” he said.

She didn't reply to that.

Then, there was the noise of a chair scraping against the floor. She lifted her head up and was incredulous to see that Adrien had sat down backwards in the chair in front of her, folding his arms and placing his chin on them as he looked at her with a smile.

“It's break time,” she repeated his words with a furrowed brow. “Shouldn't you be with your friends?”

“They'll be fine,” he replied. “Are you a new student?”

“Might as well be,” she said.

His smile showed dimples on his cheeks. “What's your name?”

The question didn't annoy her as much any more. It was a normal thing for people to ask, and everyone other than her could answer it easily.

She sat up properly, rolling her shoulders to make them click. “That's a secret.”

“A secret?” he repeated, amused. “How do I unlock it?”

“By becoming my friend,” she answered. “That's usually how you get secrets out of people, isn't it?”

He wasn't put-off by her attitude. “I'll be your friend.”

“It's not about saying it,” she told him, complete with a shake of her head. “It's all in the actions, you know? Claiming you're my friend is different to actually being there for me.”

“Oh,” he said.

Although he was quiet, he was still looking at her, sitting casually in his chair as though he didn't have any other plans for that day. It wasn't normal for Adrien to lag behind his friends; usually, he had at least one by his side.

His popularity made it so he was never alone.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to say hi,” he said, offering her another smile that didn't look forced in the slightest. “And you looked... sad.”

“Sad?” she questioned. “I was trying to sleep.”

“Sleeping through break is a little sad,” he pointed out.

Adrien was nice, that seemed to be his main feature. He was pretty, was able to hold conversations with anyone—student and teacher alike—and he was the person that other students went to if they had a problem.

She remembered him doing the majority of a presentation for a group the previous year.

“It's been so long that I don't remember what my bed's like,” she said, propping her elbow up on the desk and leaning her head into her hand. “You couldn't let me relive that a little?”

He told her, “The desk's cold and hard.”

“I want to sleep on my own terms,” she proclaimed.

He snorted. “That's all well and good until you wake up with a scream because of the bell.”

She squinted. “Has that happened to you?”

As he laughed, he ran his fingers through his hair before touching the back of his neck. “Maybe?”

“You're too nice,” she said. “Don't you—aren't you ever fed up with all of this?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I don't think I've ever seen you mad,” she remarked. “And you're friendly with, like, _everyone_. Even some assholes that talk badly about you behind your back.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“I want to live for myself.” Her voice came out as a whisper. “Don't you?”

He opened his mouth to reply—

* * *

She never heard his answer.

Adrien's party happened over the weekend.

She was only aware of it from all the whispers and gossip that went around. From Chloé and Alya talking, she learned that Chloé _did_ wear a push-up bra and get ignored for the majority of the night, that someone had threw up into a vase in Adrien's home, and the flowerbeds in the garden had been ruined, resulting in him being grounded.

It didn't sound fun in the slightest.

Then, she realised that she'd never _been_ to a party before. There were no memories in her recollection of it—a missing portion along with what her parents could look like, or even where she lived.

The unknown was becoming more and more.

There was one thing that was becoming more apparent: with every time the puppet strings were gone, she was able to be in control for a longer period of time. It was miniscule compared to the hours lost, yet there was no denying that it was _increasing_.

She considered it building stamina.

The time limit she had was roughly fifteen minutes.

With that in mind, she decided to go to the library and pick out the first row of books in the fiction section, stacking them up on a desk in the corner of the room. Although it would disappear, she skimmed through, writing down the names of characters before moving onto the next one.

She was trying to see which one fit her.

Under her breath, she mumbled them, writing it out a couple of times to see whether it felt right.

That first time, she didn't find the one.

The next time she came, picking up a different row of books, it wasn't long until she was interrupted by someone asking her, “What are you doing?”

She tilted her head back. “Adrien?”

“That's me?” It came out sounding like a question. “Are you busy? Sorry, I—all the other desks are taken up, so I wanted to ask if I could sit with you.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” she said, gesturing to the empty chair beside her.

She continued on with her search.

Adrien had gotten out one of his textbooks and was writing down notes. Him fiddling with his pen was quick distracting when he kept tapping it against the desk.

“Can you stop?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said, offering her a sheepish smile.

She went back to her work.

It was some minutes later that he slumped on his desk, pressing his cheek into the notebook. “What are you looking for?”

“Names,” she replied.

“You need one for creative writing?” Adrien questioned, curious. “I usually search for a random one online—then again, I'm not a very good writer. Maybe you're more dedicated than me.”

“For me,” she clarified, turning the page and skimming through to see if any new characters were introduced.

“Are you—” Adrien started, dropping his voice into a whisper. “Are you _pregnant_?”

She snapped her head up to stare at him. “I'm fifteen.”

“I'm sixteen,” he said, giving her a goofy-looking smile. “It's nice to meet you.”

She blinked.

He smiled wider, clearly pleased with his joke.

Was that normal? They'd barely interacted in the past, but from what she knew, his sense of humour was usually something that complimented whoever he was talking to.

“I'm not pregnant,” she informed him. “I need a name for myself.”

“Oh, cool,” he remarked, sitting up. There was ink smeared on his cheek. “Like a transition thing?”

“Uh, sure.”

“That's important, then,” Adrien said, propping his arm up on the table, almost causing his pen to roll off the edge as he rested his head in his hand. “What do you have in mind?”

“I don't know,” she admitted, a bit stumped as she place her pen down. “Nothing has... nothing's felt right yet, you know?”

“It took me ages to name my cat,” he said.

Her brow furrowed. “You have a cat?”

“I love him very much,” Adrien revealed. “Wanna see a picture?”

How had she not known that?

He was the second most important person in this life; or, rather, the most important to Chloé, who the universe seemed to revolve around.

“Yes?”

When he turned his phone around to show his photo album, he was smiling wide, leaning closer to point out and explain what was happening in each picture. Almost every picture was of a black cat, either stretched out, sleeping, or doing something stupid.

He kept the blurry pictures, happily telling her about what had happened when he took them.

It was the happiest she'd seen him before.

“I—sorry,” Adrien said, clearing his throat. His body language screamed that he was embarrassed, and the red at the top of his ears proved that further. “I kind of... ramble on a lot when I talk about him.”

“It's fine,” she told him, truly meaning it. “I'd do the same if I had a cat.”

His expression brightened. “You would?”

“I mean, yeah,” she said, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear. “A pet is always there for you, right? I'd kill for that.”

“He's a bit grumpy,” Adrien said, smile showing his teeth. “And pretends to hate me. But when I ignore him, he comes and slaps me with his paw.”

She returned the smile. “Cute.”

He started showing her pictures again. “Isn't he?”

They spoke for the few minutes she had remaining.

* * *

It seemed that whenever Adrien saw her within the down-time between scenes, he came over to talk. He always asked for her name, sat down or hovered there while asking her what she was doing, and it didn't seem worth it to try and get him to leave.

He wasn't doing any harm.

It was nice to talk to someone, no matter how short it was for.

He didn't remember their conversations, so he asked her three more times what she was doing in the library during break.

The last time, she questioned right back, “Shouldn't you be with your friends? They'd let you copy their homework.”

He shrugged. “I wanted a break.”

“You're sat with me,” she said.

“I've never seen you before,” Adrien replied, giving her a sheepish smile. “Are you in my year? Maybe we'll be in the same classes—”

She cut him off with, “Do you have a cat?”

He was surprised. “Yes?”

“Can I see?” she asked.

That always stopped his torrent of questions. It seemed that enquiring about his cat was a sure way to get him to drop his guard, preferring to gush and launch into the newest table of mischief that his cat had gotten up to.

She could see why everyone liked him so much.

* * *

The inevitable happened.

Although she'd been free at lunch, there wasn't any money in her wallet. It hadn't been replenished from the time she'd bought the ice-pop at the corner store. To her, it seemed like days ago, but in reality it had been _weeks_.

Time was funny when she didn't have to sleep.

She'd wandered outside to the playground, looking for a place to sit down that wasn't wet. The majority of the students were inside the dining hall or an open classroom that a teacher was taking pity on them with, so she only had to stray over to the year below hers section for an empty bench.

She was too tired to look for names that day.

Adrien didn't take long to find her.

His brow was furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“How did you name your cat?” she asked him.

His confusion grew. “You know I have a cat?”

“I've heard it around,” she explained with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Wasn't it hard? I'm trying to pick a name for mine, but it's... not quite right.”

“I don't know,” he said, putting his hands into the pockets of his blazer. It was slightly too big for him. “I had this whole list when I was waiting to pick him up. But when I actually held him, none of them fit.”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“Are you in my year?” he questioned.

“Yes, we're not in any of the same classes,” she replied, scooting over to make room for him. “I've heard about you, though. Golden boy and all that.”

He sat down hesitantly. “People say that?”

“Well, that or they shit-talk you,” she mused. “You're too nice to everyone.”

He frowned. “I don't like being mean.”

“Saying no isn't mean,” she pointed out. “Nor is telling them that they can't copy your homework. You got caught for that earlier, didn't you?”

Adrien was wide-eyed. “How'd you know that already?”

“I'm a ghost,” she deadpanned. “I hear everything.”

“I... don't think that's how ghosts work,” he awkwardly replied.

“You don't get to tell me that!” she exclaimed, gesturing wildly at herself. “I'm the one that exists in this weird hell.”

“Uh, I'm also here,” Adrien said, that confused smile becoming increasingly familiar to her.

“Why _are_ you here?” she questioned. “You should be eating lunch.”

He averted his eyes. “I'm not hungry today.”

She hummed. “Right.”

“I'm not,” he insisted.

“I didn't say otherwise,” she pointed out.

He crossed his arms.

Luckily, he wasn't pushing the question of her identity. Adrien had accepted that she knew of him rather quickly. Then again, with how popular he was, it was possible that that scenario had happened before.

She couldn't imagine sitting down with a stranger in his place.

She quietly said, “You don't have to sit with me.”

“You're sat with me,” he replied, pushing his shoulders up to try and get his coat to cover his neck more. The cold weather was making it even colder with every passing day. “And it's nice to sit with someone new.”

“I wouldn't know,” she mused. “I'm always alone in classes.”

“Everyone was already sharing a desk when you transferred?”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“That sucks,” he offered. “We might be able to change our seats soon!”

“That won't fix anything.”

“Not with that attitude,” he said.

She sighed, slumping back on the bench. “What's it like to have friends?”

“Wow, you're pretty depressed, huh?” he remarked, letting out a small laugh. “I—no that I'm, like, mocking you or anything. I just—I didn't expect you to be so... sad.”

She snorted. “You always think I'm sad.”

“This is the first time we've met.”

“What can I say? I don't leave a good impression,” she replied, closing her eyes.

“You're not _that_ bad,” Adrien assured her. “You've nailed the whole gloomy girl look.”

“I've got a look?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” he confirmed. “You're very pretty.”

She opened her eyes.

He cleared his throat. “I mean—”

“Pretty forgettable,” she lamely said.

The redness on his face wasn't only from the cold. “I wouldn't say that.”

She squinted. “Did you come over here because you think I'm pretty?”

He grimaced. “Is that... a problem?”

And how was she supposed to take _that_?

She bluntly asked, “Can you point your affections elsewhere?”

“Affections?” he repeated, his voice higher-pitched than normal. “What—why are you talking like that?”

“I've read a lot of period drama books lately,” she remarked. “Weirdly enough, there's a lot of them in the library. I was hoping for some more modern romance novels to get my names from.”

He blinked.

It was probably the best response to that.

He worked up the courage to ask, “What do you mean with—with pointing it elsewhere?”

“I mean,” she started, awkwardly gesturing around them. “Isn't there _anyone_ that catches your eye out there? In the way where your... body just doesn't react the way you want it to?”

Adrien tilted his head. “You caught my eye.”

“That's nice.”

“Is it?” he questioned, still a little pink in the face as he touched the back of his neck shyly.

She asked, “What do you think of Chloé?”

He was taken aback. “Which one?”

“Uh, the one in your form,” she clarified. “Boursin or whatever.”

He laughed. “Bourgeois?”

She kept a straight face. “That's what I said.”

“She's... okay?” Adrien replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “A little... loud?”

“A little?” she questioned.

“Okay, a lot,” he corrected with a wince. “And very giggly.”

“That's because she likes you,” she bluntly replied.

He huffed. “Yeah, right.”

“She does,” she insisted. “Didn't you notice her push-up bra at your party? She did that just for you.”

He looked perplexed. “I barely spoke to her.”

She made a thoughtful noise. “You're not a big fan of cheese?”

“What?”

“Boursin?” she reminded him. “And she's got cheese hair.”

“...I'm also blond.”

“Yeah, but I like you,” she explained with a shrug. “She's rude, so she's cheese.”

He grew more bewildered. “Okay.”

“For the future, maybe don't go and talk to anyone that you find pretty,” she advised, reaching over to pat his arm. “You can do better.”

“I'm very confused,” he told her.

“Yeah, same,” she agreed. “But that doesn't change the fact that you haven't noticed Chloé's big fat crush on you.”

He started to say, “That's not—”

She wasn't the one to interrupt him.

Chloé stormed up to them. “Why are you telling him _that_?”

She jumped from the sudden intrusion. “Where did you come from?”

“That's—that's not the point!” Chloé exclaimed, going as far as to stomp her foot. “Who the hell are you?”

“This is—” Adrien stopped, realising that he didn't know her name. “She's... a friend?”

Chloé's face grew red. “I don't have a crush on you!”

He leaned back. “Okay?”

Chloé shrieked, “I _don't_!”

“I didn't say you did!” Adrien exclaimed right back, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender. “I really don't know what's going on.”

And instead of listening in on the drama, she reached into her backpack, unlocking her phone to see the time.

“Two minutes,” she said.

Chloé snapped, “What?”

“Two minutes,” she repeated, holding two fingers up in a peace sign. “And you'll forget all about this, don't worry.”

Adrien was looking at her oddly.

It wasn't anything new.

“For what it's worth,” she started, glancing between the two of them. “Adrien's oblivious. You need to be more direct with him.”

Chloé bristled. “Who even are _you—_ ”

She smiled. “A ghost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com/) ♥(ꈍᴗꈍ)


	2. 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one laughed at me calling chloé boursin in the last chapter and i'm so disappointed in you guys
> 
> the chapter count as been upped from 3 to 4 now since i'm at 35k in total right now and i'm not close to finishing dlkhgjhfhfj it might be raised to 5 in the future but idk. i'm only splitting them into 10k-ish chapters because of all the pagebreaks. you all know i'd normally post it all at once and be done with it so this is progress?? right???

Her free time was up to half an hour.

She got enjoy the entire first break of the day without being interrupted. Of course, without money it meant that she didn't get to experience eating, but she could go and spend time in the library for a while.

It was the middle of December.

The holidays were coming.

It was daunting to realise that she was going to skip weeks at a time; like with half-term at the beginning when she'd first become aware that something was strange, time was going to move on when she wasn't useful.

She wouldn't have any memories of family or what she did with her free time.

It was like she didn't exist when she wasn't needed for the plot of Chloé's romance—the very same romance that hadn't improved in the slightest since the crush had blossomed on their first year.

She'd been watching it all play out without realising it.

Adrien didn't stop bumping into her, though now it was with the context that he thought she was pretty. He'd admitted it two times more—at least—and had been as shy and embarrassed as the first.

She really didn't know what to do with that information.

It wasn't like she could reject him when he'd forget it had happened at all. There was nothing she could do to influence him to go to Chloé—

Because that was the aim, wasn't it?

Everything was about Chloé's _love_.

What would happen if they got together?

The thought of being freed from being a puppet because those two loved each other seemed better to think about than being stuck as a prop for the rest of her life.

But—

Would that really be what happened?

Although she had no home, she was a student of the school. She always had supplies, her uniform was clean, and tests were given to her despite her lack of name.

Would that apply to college?

Would she just _appear_ there?

“I thought you were asleep.”

She jumped.

“Sorry!” Adrien apologised, reaching out to touch her shoulder before he pulled away. “I—I came over to see if you wanted any help.”

It was always him.

No one else approached her first, not unless she was doing something out of the ordinary.

“I never have enough time to sleep,” she said, rubbing her palms in her eyes in an effort to be more alert. “Maybe by, like, next year.”

“Coursework keeping you up?” he questioned.

“Yeah, sure,” she muttered.

“I could help,” he offered. “I'm—”

“Don't offer that to everyone,” she reprimanded, blinking when her vision was blurry from pressing too hard on her eyes. “No one's paying you back for all your kindness, are they?”

He tilted his head. “I don't want to be paid.”

She snorted. “I don't mean with actual money.”

“Then, what do you mean?” he asked.

“You're wasting your time,” she replied, running her fingers through her hair. “Who's going to remember you after all of this? You're—you're being too nice to too many people. Be selfish.”

He gave her a tight smile. “I wasn't expecting a motivational talk, but okay.”

“Well, someone has to,” she lamely replied.

“Can I sit down?” he asked.

She nodded. “Are you doing your homework again?”

“You seem to know a lot about me,” he remarked, seeming not to be put-off in the slightest. “Are you going to tell me anything about you?”

“I think you have poor self-esteem,” she replied.

He raised his eyebrows. “You think that?”

“No one's controlling you, are they?”

“Are we talking about conspiracy theories?” Adrien questioned, leaning in closer and cupping one side of his mouth with his hand, making it seem that he was telling her a big secret. “Personally, I'm a big fan of the lizard people one. That amuses me.”

“We're all puppets,” she deadpanned.

He nodded seriously. “Oh, we're talking about the man?”

“I'm here only for other people,” she proclaimed. “And I'm _sick_ of it! Even if it's you!”

He started to smile. “You're here for me?”

She pointed at him. “No funny business, Adrien. I'm having a breakdown because of your love-life.”

“My... love-life,” he repeated, a breathy quality to his voice. “You... you want to know about that?”

“Hey.” She snapped her fingers. “We just met, calm down.”

“That's not—” Adrien spluttered, his face becoming red. “Am I that obvious?”

“I can read the signs,” she lied.

He winced. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine, dude,” she replied, shrugging. “I'm used to it by now.”

“You're... used to it?”

“This situation has happened before,” she revealed. “Exactly... twelve times, if we're being specific.”

He swallowed. “And what situation is this?”

She beamed. “Boys finding me pretty.”

He coughed. “Is that so?”

“Well, this has been great,” she declared, standing up and collecting her books to put back. “I'll see you again in a few minutes, yeah?”

He stood up with her. “You're leaving?”

“I'm making the most of my time,” she replied, walking back over to the bookcases.

Adrien took a few books from her pile, joining her in putting them back.

“That's not going to help you get with me,” she mused.

He made a strangled noise. “I'm not—”

“Yeah, you're just being nice,” she interrupted, clicking her tongue. “Why do you think everyone takes advantage of you? Not to mention how disrespectful they were at your party.”

His brow furrowed. “You were there?”

She tucked some stray hairs behind her ear. “I never got the invitation.”

“I—I only told a few people,” he blurted.

That wasn't what she'd heard.

“Are you sure?” she questioned.

“It got a bit out of control,” he admitted, fiddling with his hands. “I only—I wanted something small, you know? Because my cat gets scared of crowds. He hid away in my room all night. I had to sneak away to bring him up some food, and then people tried to go in there with him—”

That had never been mentioned.

What motivation did he have to lie? She knew all about how much he adored his cat; she'd heard about it for the first time on a few separate occasions, witnessing how passionate he was when gushing about his pride and joy.

She put the last book back. “Where were your parents?”

His smile didn't reach his eyes. “They don't care.”

“Oh,” was all she could say.

* * *

Chloé was giggly.

As Adrien had said before, their seating arrangements in some classes had changed.

It was January.

To her, it had only been past lunch. Yet, she'd appeared back at the entrance of the school with a new coat and shoes, her hair styled into two plaits, and she'd been so confused to see the snow on the ground.

There wasn't much time to admire the scenery before she was forced to trudge into registration. And after sitting through those few minutes, she was forced into the next classroom, like a puppet on strings. No one greeted her, no one _looked_ at her, and she—

She wasn't on the new seating chart that was written out on the board.

After everyone else had taken their seats, she sat in the remaining empty desk. Her chair didn't scrape the floor when she pulled it out.

Everyone else was talking while waiting for the teacher to arrive.

She was near the back.

Behind her, Adrien and Chloé were at a desk together. Alya had nudged Chloé when pointing out the seating arrangement, and Chloé's happiness was more than obvious.

“So,” Chloé started, letting out another giggle. “We haven't sat together for a while, huh?”

“I don't think so,” Adrien replied. “The last time was... I think it was in Science?”

“That doesn't count!” Chloé exclaimed. “There were other people in our group!”

He sounded confused. “It doesn't?”

Chloé huffed. “Don't you think it's weird that we never hang out?”

“No?” he responded. She imagined that he was tilting his head as he said it. “I mean, our friend groups don't really... overlap? And you ran away from me when I joined the lunch queue behind you a few weeks ago.”

Chloé made a choked noise. “You remember that?”

“Yes?” Adrien replied. “You—you looked at me before running.”

“I had to pee,” Chloé said.

“What?”

“Your hair reminded me of it,” Chloé lied.

“You're saying I have _pee_ hair?” Adrien questioned, the shaking of his voice making it obvious that he wanted to laugh. “I'm worried. How much water do you drink?”

“Forget I said that,” Chloé blurted.

He laughed. “I don't think I can.”

Chloé's romance was going as well as ever, then.

After the teacher arrived, there wasn't much whispering. It was one of the stricter classes; phones would be confiscated if seen in their bags, anyone would be sent to stand outside the classroom if they disrupted the class without a good reason, and it was one of the classes where going to the toilet was rejected.

And throughout it all, she was sat stiffly, writing the wrong notes down.

What could've been so important?

Chloé didn't even _speak_! Were they just stealing glances at each other?

That didn't seem like anything groundbreaking. Adrien looked at everyone; he was friendly, after all, and held a conversation with anyone that greeted him.

Chloé wasn't even asking him about his cat to butter him up.

It lasted the entire class.

And when the bell went, ending her puppet strings along with the same loud clicking nose, she sighed, running her fingers over her hair.

She pulled out the hairbands out, smoothing it out.

“Do you mind?” she heard from behind her. “Your hair just flew into my backpack.”

She turned her head to give Chloé a tired look. “And?”

“And?” Chloé repeated, offended. “I don't _want_ it! It's going to stand out and make it look dirty—”

It wasn't hard to reach over and snatch the white backpack from Chloé's hands. And before Chloé could react, she shook it upside down.

All of Chloé's belongings fell out.

“There,” she said, smiling tightly. “All fixed.”

Chloé gaped at her.

* * *

It wasn't just Adrien that was disturbing her peace any more.

After realising that she _still_ didn't have any lunch money, she'd went to the library to read. It was too cold outside for her to only wear a coat. Her lack of gloves, scarf, or even a hat made her stand out from the rest of the students who were bundled up and ready for the weather.

The only thing she had going for her was that she didn't have to walk to school.

“I can hear your stomach growling from the other side of the room.”

She turned her head to see Chloé's standing there with her arms crossed, looking down at her with disapproval.

“Sorry?” she replied, confused on how she was supposed to respond to that.

“Are you on a diet?” Chloé questioned. “Because it's not worth it. You look fine.”

Her brow furrowed. “Thank you?”

Chloé huffed, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Why aren't you eating?”

“Why are you asking?” she asked.

“Because I can hear your stomach,” Chloé reminded her. “And it made me forget why I came here in the first place.”

“To do your homework?” she suggested.

Chloé waved a hand dismissively. “I'll copy from someone later.”

She blinked. “Okay.”

After deeming the conversation over, she turned back to her book, idly reading through the chapter to take in the names. She'd long since given up writing them out, deciding it would be easier to just mumble them underneath her breath as she went alone.

She would've liked to keep a diary.

However, Chloé didn't walk away.

Instead, Chloé pulled out the chair that Adrien had sat in previously, sitting down with an attitude and dropping her bag onto the floor.

She looked at her strangely. “What are you doing?”

“I've never seen you before,” Chloé said.

“And that means you have to sit down with me?” she questioned.

Chloé leaned onto the table with one elbow, angling her body her way. “It means I'm curious. What year are you in?”

“Yours,” she said.

Chloé was surprised. “You know me?”

“It's kind of hard not to.”

“Oh, true.” Chloé beamed, looking smug. “I am quite beautiful.”

“You're loud,” she corrected.

Chloé laughed. “I can't deny that.”

It was the most civil conversation they'd had.

But it didn't explain _anything_. Chloé had never noticed her before! She hadn't done anything to attract attention—

“I don't have the money for lunch,” she bluntly told her. “So, it's not a diet thing.”

Chloé squinted. “You a scholarship student?”

“We have those?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Chloé admitted with a shrug. “But that sounds like something we'd have, right? I mean, our headmaster likes to brag about our school at every assembly. Scholarships seem like something right up his alley.”

“I have bad grades,” she said.

Chloé laughed. “Bitch, same.”

She was taken aback.

“Not in, like, a derogatory way,” Chloé added on when she noticed her discomfort. “I call all my friends that.”

“We're not friends.”

“You're right,” Chloé agreed, nodding her head slowly. “What's your name?”

“Not bitch,” she said.

Chloé's laughter was loud in the library. “Yeah, that's good. I'd hate to think your parents would call you that. My aunt has Gay as her middle name. Can you _imagine_ that?”

She scooted her chair back. “Why are you telling me this?”

“We're bonding,” Chloé stated.

“You're interrupting my reading time,” she pointed out.

“You can read any other time,” Chloé confidently replied, smile showing her teeth. “When else would you have a chance to talk to someone as pretty as me?”

She frowned. “Go away.”

“So rude!” Chloé exclaimed through her laughter.

This wasn't the Chloé that had snapped and shouted at her all the other times. Instead, she seemed civil, as friendly as when she was with Alya, and not vibrating with anger like when Chloé had caught her telling Adrien about her crush.

“Where's Alya?” she asked.

“You even know her?” Chloé raised her eyebrows. “Having lunch. I'm on a diet.”

She exclaimed, “You just told me diets aren't worth it!”

“I put on weight over break,” Chloé explained with a dismissive tone. “And I have a personal trainer.”

“You have... a personal trainer?” she questioned.

“What, you don't?”

“I don't have money for lunch,” she reminded her.

Chloé winced. “Right, yeah. You can't afford one.”

“Wow, no need to sugarcoat it,” she muttered.

Chloé let out a laugh. “You're funny.”

She was baffled by that. “I'm... funny?”

“Yeah,” Chloé confirmed, propping her head up with her hand, looking at her with a smile that showed her teeth. “You come here often?”

“Are you hitting on me?” she blurted.

Chloé snorted. “I'm asking for real! I've never seen you before which seems _outrageous_.”

“I don't understand,” she slowly said.

The only explanation she got was, “I like pretty things.”

She pointed at herself. “I'm pretty?”

Chloé clicked her fingers. “Bingo.”

She gaped.

Chloé smiled wider.

* * *

It was only one person seeking her out because she was pretty—now, Adrien and Chloé had joined ranks, seeming to take it in turns to pop up and ask her what she was doing.

The next time it was Chloé, Alya lingered a few metres away, fiddling with her phone instead of approaching to talk to her as well.

Chloé was asking her why she was sitting alone, not giving her a chance to respond before rambling on about someone that had annoyed her earlier. Apparently, Chloé thought it was good advice to warn her of people she disliked ahead of time.

She'd been so utterly confused by Chloé's repeat approach that she hadn't quite realised that Alya was edging away until she'd turn her head to look and saw that Alya had disappeared entirely.

“Your friend's gone,” she remarked.

Chloé shrugged. “She'll come back.”

“You're... staying?” she questioned.

“Why not?” Chloé replied, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “I need to get to the bottom of where the hell you came from. I mean, I think I'd know if there was someone almost as pretty as me here.”

She sighed.

“Cheer up, you've got a bit more growing to do,” Chloé assured, gesturing towards her. “What year are you in?”

“Does it even matter?” she muttered.

“I need to keep an eye on my competition,” Chloé proclaimed, crossing her arms. “Did you just transfer here? That means you'll be in the year book we'll get at the end—”

“I doubt it,” she said.

“Which year?” Chloé persisted.

“Yours,” she tiredly replied. “Yes, I'm in your classes. You've never noticed me before.”

Chloé clicked her fingers. “You got a haircut!”

“I—what?”

“That must be why,” Chloé decided with a thoughtful nod. “You must've looked real weird before since I can't even place your face. Word of advice, keep the current look, yeah? It'll help you in life.”

It was enough to make her laugh loudly.

Chloé was offended by her reaction. “It's good advice!”

Her voice wobbled with her laughter. “I'm sure it is.”

“Your uniform is a disaster, though,” Chloé continued on, recovering from the slight snub to give her a critical glance over. “If you're going to tuck your shirt in, at least get one that _fits_. Look at how it doesn't fit your shoulders!”

At least her stomach wasn't rumbling that time.

“It's all I can afford,” she replied with a shrug.

“Well, it sucks,” Chloé told her.

She said, “I can't do anything about it.”

* * *

Chloé and Alya were still trying to think of ways to let Chloé confess.

She didn't see how they thought it was a good idea to talk about that quite loudly in the classroom. It seemed to be luck that no one had overheard them then, let alone all the other times they'd whispered and giggled, trying to sort out their master plan.

Thus far, she knew that outside of the scenes where she was a puppet, nothing happened between Chloé and Adrien. The two of them could walk around freely and interact with people, but when the click happened, they forgot all about what had happened.

So, nothing important _could_ happen.

The world was working by a strange logic that she'd only heard of in fiction before.

It made sense for Adrien and Chloé not to talk to each other between scenes, but for them to _continue_ searching her out and telling her she was pretty in different ways?

The best way to describe it was baffling.

She'd been ignored for so long—left in the dark to wonder what was going on, only being spoken to when she made some kind of scene in the downtime, and suddenly the two who were supposed to be the main characters of the world were giving her attention.

It was very odd.

Alya had appeared a few more times, either at the beginning before walking away, or approaching at the end and asking her who she was. Talking to her never lasted long.

That day, it was Adrien that found her.

He sounded amused. “What are you doing?”

She looked up tiredly. “What does it look like?”

“Like... you're trying to sleep on your bag?” he questioned, kneeling down beside her desk instead of taking the free seat. “It doesn't look very comfortable.”

“I've never had a pillow,” she told him.

“You should bring one to school,” he recommended. “It would be so much better if our nurse actually had a bed in the office, right? But no. Maybe they think we'd take advantage of it and try and sleep.”

She sighed. “I wish.”

“Wanna use my coat?” he offered, gesturing to the very piece of clothing that he had on. “It's got fur on the inside, so it's very soft.”

She lifted her head up to stare at him. “You're... offering me your coat?”

“It's comfy,” he informed her, already slipping off the coat and happily showing off the fur on the inside. “Here, touch it.”

She did.

He beamed. “Isn't it?”

“Very soft,” she agreed.

“Great,” Adrien said, happily placing the coat down on her desk, spreading it out to cover the desk with the fur facing her. “I'll come back and get it at the end of break, yeah?”

And with that, he scurried away out the door, surely in search for his friends.

It did feel soft.

Sadly, it wasn't long enough for her to fall asleep.

By building her stamina from being able to be in control for longer and longer each time, she was up to thirty-five minutes. It meant that she could go through the first break completely—bell to bell—and wander in search of the next classroom.

The free time she'd earned was never interrupted for a scene.

It meant that for thirty-five minutes, she didn't have to worry about being a puppet for Chloé's love-life.

Well, other than for Chloé to come over and offer her blunt compliments that were mixed in with telling her to do better. The last topic had been the length of her skirt, something that she'd never thought about.

It hadn't seemed important when she'd never been the one to dress herself.

So, the first time she wandered into the PE changing rooms, she'd been abnormally happy about changing her clothes.

It never failed to baffle her how her belongings and clothing could be replaced, yet she didn't have personal details about herself.

“What music do you like?” Adrien questioned.

He'd found her during lunch.

“I don't know,” she replied, honest. “I don't... have much time to listen to it, I guess.”

He made a thoughtful noise. “No?”

“My house isn't very musical,” she told him with a shrug. “But I'd love to listen to some.”

“But you don't have time to at home,” he repeated, sitting down beside her.

There wasn't anyone else paying attention to them. As it was raining, a teacher had offered up their classroom to let them stay in, only warning them that any mess would have to be cleaned up unless they all wanted to have detention.

While most of their class-mates had gone to the dining hall, Adrien had stayed behind.

She didn't know the reason why.

“I have some earphones in my bag,” he admitted, touching the back of his neck. “Would you—do you want to listen to some? With me?”

The offer surprised her. “Really?”

His smile reached his eyes. “Of course!”

He almost tripped in his haste to cross the room. While he was too embarrassed to look back at her, she could see that his ears had turned red.

It was a little cute.

He walked back at a slower pace.

Adrien was as clumsy as all the other times he spoke to her. His hand was shaking as he handed one earphone over to her, putting the other into his ear before scrolling through his phone to find the right song.

The song played on speaker from his phone at first.

He fumbled, putting in the earphones while his face turned red.

She laughed.

It was one of the best times she'd had with him.

* * *

“Here,” Chloé said, handing her a juice carton. “You can have this.”

And with that good deed done, Chloé walked away.

She stared down at her hand, baffled.

It wasn't break, it wasn't lunch—there was no reason for Chloé to give her a juice when they'd walked into the next class and sat down, waiting for the teacher to arrive.

There'd been no questions; no asking her who she was, whether she was really in that class—nothing.

She stared down at the juice.

Condensation rolled down the side.

She wasn't going to pass up this opportunity.

She started to rip the straw off the side—

There was a loud noise.

She was back to being a puppet. Time had jumped to the end of class, right as the teacher was packing up and everyone was getting up to go out and enjoy their first break of the day.

That didn't include her, apparently. She was stuck sitting primly in her seat, hands clasped in her lap, barely moving.

The juice was gone.

She was sad that she hadn't had a chance to taste it.

When was the last time she'd been able to? There wasn't a vending machine in the school, nothing outside of the dining hall to offer food and drinks other than water from the water tap in the hallways.

She hadn't been able to afford food for so long.

A few of her class-mates lagged behind. Some were sat at their desks talking, another lingering in the hallway and seeming unsure on where to go, and she didn't have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to when she heard, “Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm okay,” Adrien said.

He didn't sound as friendly as usual.

“I—hang on,” Chloé stuttered out. “You can have my juice.”

The _juice_!

“It's okay,” he said, surprised. “I can buy my own. You don't have to give me yours—”

“Mine's better than the stuff from here,” Chloé bragged. “It's more nutritious. Besides, you look really pale right now. Some sugar will do you good, right?”

“I'm pale?” he asked.

“You look really washed out,” Chloé confirmed. “It doesn't suit you at all.”

He let out a laugh. “Thank you?”

“Drink it,” Chloé insisted.

After Chloé had walked out of the classroom, the click happened.

She turned around in her seat to see that Adrien had placed the juice on the desk beside him.

That was supposed to be hers.

She'd _finally_ been given something to drink and it had been taken away from her in an instant.

It was entirely for that petty reason that she snatched it away from him, taking out the straw and piercing the lid before taking a big sip.

Adrien was gaping at her.

It tasted really nice.

He was baffled. “Who are you?”

“This was mine first,” she said, holding the carton with two hands. The cold was welcome despite it being winter.

Adrien made a strangled noise. “Did Chloé steal it?”

“Yes.” Technically, she stole it back. “She did.”

“I'm so sorry,” he apologised in a rush, aghast. “You—you can have that juice. Yeah.”

“You feel all right?” she questioned. “I heard what she was saying to you.”

He blinked. “You... heard that?”

“I'm like a little mouse that freezes in terror when you two are together,” she mused. “There's no standing up to the big guy, you know?”

His expression softened. “Has she been bullying you for that long?”

She sniffed. “It's been horrible.”

“I bet,” he whispered.

“You didn't answer,” she said, gesturing towards him and causing a droplet of juice to fall out of the straw. With a noise of distress, she licked it from her hand. “You feeling all right?”

His face was red. “Y-yes?”

“You are a bit pale,” she remarked, leaning in as much as she could without putting too much weight on her chair. “Headache?”

“I had a cold over the weekend,” he admitted. “It's just the end of that, I guess. I'm over the snotty nose, so that's all that matters.”

“A cold,” she repeated thoughtfully. “How does it feel?”

“How does it feel to... have a cold?” he questioned, furrowing his brow.”

She nodded. “I've never had one.”

He let out a small laugh. “You don't want one.”

“You know the saying, you want what you can't have,” she said, holding up one hand to start lifting up fingers to count out her points. “I would like to sleep so I know what it's like to dream, to actually have some _food_ , and as terrible as a cold sounds, I'm real curious.”

One of Adrien's default expressions around her was of confusion. The way his eyebrows scrunched was cute when it was combined with the puzzled tilt of his head. “You're saying you've never had anything to eat?”

“I had an ice-pop,” she mused. “Does that count?”

“That depends,” he said. “Did you bite into it or not?”

“I did,” she said, smiling to tap one of her teeth. “Turns out they're not sensitive.”

He tried not to laugh. “That's... nice.”

“Oh, and I'm an orphan,” she added on. “What's it like having parents?”

He choked. “What?”

She tilted her head. “Was that too blunt?”

Adrien sounded winded. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Who else would I tell?” she replied. “Besides, you'll forget about it soon.”

“I—what?” he blurted.

She reached out and patted his shoulder. “Thank you for the juice. You've inspired me to see whether I can swipe anything from the dining hall without people seeing me.”

He was wide-eyed. “You're going to _steal_?”

With a smile, she gestured to the juice carton. “I've got a taste for it now.”

He gaped.

It turned out that she couldn't steal. The queues before the tills were monitored to stop students from slipping through with their spoils, so she'd decided to grab another drink, open it there and drink it all.

She didn't mind the weird looks.

It didn't feel as good as the juice before, however. She wiped her chin to get rid of a droplet that had trailed down there, ignoring the remarks from the employee telling her that she'd need to pay for that at the till, realising that she didn't feel hungry that day.

Maybe, if it had been like the day where her stomach had rumbled in front of Chloé, it would've felt better.

Was it a moral dilemma of whether she should steal when the universe was out to get her as it was?

She ran away instead of paying, knowing that her free time would run out before she had to suffer the consequences of her actions.

The next time skip took her to PE.

Mr. D'Argencourt was ignoring her existence once more. They were outside that time, even though it was freezing.

She was standing on the sidelines, stiff with her hands behind her back—a pose of an old man—while the other girls in her class ran around, kicking a ball.

It wasn't a surprise not to be included.

She had to wonder what the point of it was, though. The boys were off were inside with another teacher, so Adrien wasn't there.

Chloé and Alya were probably planning again.

They were definitely talking. Mr. D'Argencourt scolded them for not paying attention to the game when the ball rolled past Alya, completely ignored.

The scene didn't last long.

After the loud click happened, she sat down on the floor, not caring that dirt was getting on her clothes. They'd be clean and washed the next time she needed them.

Did she even know how to use a washing machine?

There was some bickering on the pitch, but she was too far away to hear what happened. However, she did see Chloé shove another girl and raised voices before Mr. D'Argencourt ordered for Chloé to go to the sidelines.

Chloé stomped over, agitation clear in her body language.

She was ignored, once again.

It was a bit refreshing.

She propped her elbows up on her knees, leaning forward to look at Chloé from the side. Chloé was glowering at the pitch with her arms crossed, her displeased expression telling her everything that she needed to know.

That was one good thing about her: Chloé's expression was an open book. Chloé blushed easily, showed her surprise, and her anger was never hidden whenever she felt it.

“Why'd you get sent off?” she asked.

Chloé jumped. “When did you get here?”

“I've been here all lesson,” she replied with a smile.

Chloé smoothed out her outfit, shifting on the spot. “You don't look injured.”

“I've been excused from participating forever,” she told her. “I usually zone out and wait for this to be over.”

“That's better than being out there,” Chloé grumbled. “Some bitch said I'm pathetic, so I pushed her.”

“Bitch?” she questioned. “I thought you only called your friends that.”

“She's not my friend!” Chloé exclaimed. Then, when Chloé realised that she'd said, she looked at her in confusion. “Why do you know that?”

She smiled. “I'm in your classes.”

“You... are?” Chloé asked slowly, taking her in from head-to-toe. There wasn't much to see when she was almost folded in half from how she was sitting. “I've never seen you.”

“I'm usually behind you,” she quipped. “It's hard to see the board when you've got a really high ponytail.”

Chloé squinted. “Maybe you're just small?”

She made an offended noise. “I'm still growing as a person.”

“Stand up,” Chloé demanded.

“But I only just got to sit,” she complained.

“Up,” Chloé repeated.

She sighed. “Fine, but only this once. If you ask me about my height again, I'm running away.”

“You're excused from running,” Chloé pointed out smugly.

She laughed. “You think that's going to stop me?”

“I think you should get up,” Chloé said, offering out her hands to help her up.

She accepted.

“Small,” Chloé remarked, smiling widely as she took a step back. “Just like I thought.”

“Wow, okay,” she said, offended. “I see how it is. Pick on the person that's permanently on the bench.”

“You were on the ground,” Chloé corrected. “And now you're dirty. Aren't you embarrassed about that?”

She shrugged. “I've had worse.”

Chloé snorted. “You look like shit.”

“Are you gonna push me, too?” she questioned. “Because I've never been in a fight. I might cry.”

Chloé was amused. “Who says I want to fight you?”

“...It's possible.”

“All you have to do is _not_ insult me and we'll get along swimmingly,” Chloé said casually, inspecting her nails on one hand. “And tell me why I haven't noticed you before.”

“I had a glow-up this summer,” she deadpanned.

Chloé squinted. “It's January.”

“It was a slow burn to get people to notice me,” she quipped, putting her hands on her hips. “But now you can't deny that you're looking at me, right? Most of the time, people just look past me.”

Chloé's smile showed her teeth. “Trying to tell me I'm not like other girls?”

“I mean, other girls don't have a personal trainer,” she mused.

“...How much do you know about me?”

“You talk very loudly with Alya,” she said, reaching up to tighten her ponytail. “I think I know, like, half of your dirty secrets.”

Chloé scoffed. “Sure.”

She cupped one side of her mouth as she leaned forward to whisper, “I know you got grounded for wearing a push-up bra to Adrien's party.”

Chloé dramatically let her hands fall down to her side. “Ugh, don't remind me of _that_!”

She laughed. “How'd that go, by the way?”

“It was terrible,” Chloé proclaimed, wrinkling her nose. “I barely saw him and everyone had too much alcohol.”

“...Alcohol?”

“It was his sweet sixteenth,” Chloé pointed out. “And his parents are chill. I can't think of any other parents that would willingly give it out like that.”

“That's... not a good thing,” she remarked.

“Eh,” Chloé said. “You didn't go?”

“Partying is a sport,” she stated.

Chloé laughed; the sound was genuine and loud enough to have the teacher glance over to see if everything was okay. “Yes, can't have you passing out from having a good time, right?”

She made a non-committal noise and shrugged.

There was a brief silence.

“So,” she started, dragging her foot along the floor, getting more dirt onto her shoes. “Are you going to punch me if I ask about your crush on Adrien?”

“To be honest, I think I'm dreaming right now,” Chloé mused, crossing her arms. “Clearly, I got hit in the head by that bitch and I'm imagining you. That's the only explanation I'm willing to accept about you appearing out of nowhere.”

“It's kinda close,” she replied.

Chloé laughed. “You're too all-knowing to be real.”

“Think of me as your conscience, I guess,” she said. “How do you feel around Adrien?”

“Around?” Chloé repeated, furrowing her brow. “Not about?”

“Around,” she confirmed.

It was enough that Chloé was thinking about her answer. Unlike the other times, Chloé thought she was dreaming her up—hopefully, she'd be more honest than if a stranger had started asking questions about her love-life.

Chloé's answer was quiet. “I don't know.”

“Do you—is it all you?” she questioned, fiddling with her hands. “When you're with him, I mean. Are you doing what you want to do?”

Chloé frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like...” With a wave between them, she elaborated, “Are you able to say what you want or do you think—does it feel like someone else is talking for you? Or making you move weirdly?”

Chloé reached up to touch her own head. “Have I gone mad?”

It was too much to ask for, clearly.

She was the one experiencing those things. And if it was anyone else, it would be another in her position; shoved into the background without a name or memories to show that they'd grown up loved.

Chloé had everything she didn't.

“It's just me thinking aloud,” she said, gaze dropping down to her feet. “I just—I feel like that a lot.”

“Uh, deep,” Chloé awkwardly replied. “I don't know shit about mental health or whatever, but that sucks.”

She let out a small laugh. “You're very good with your words.”

“I can't even say my mouth is better for other things,” Chloé bluntly told her. “I've been crushing on the same guy for years and he barely even _looks_ at me.”

“Ask him about his cat,” she suggested.

“He has a cat?”

“I didn't know either,” she said, finally looking up to see Chloé was focusing on their class-mates instead of looking at her. “But it's the best way to get his guard down. You won't remember it, though.”

Chloé touched her head. “You even know how shit my memory is.”

“I'm you,” she lied.

“Thank you for the pep-talk, guardian angel or whatever the fuck you are,” Chloé abruptly said, turning to face her and taking ahold of her hands. “I won't forget this weird ass visit.”

She laughed.

Chloé was very serious as she said, “The only valid advice comes from pretty people.”

“You know, you tell me something like that every time we meet,” she mused. “Do you like pretty people that much?”

“My parents taught me early that looks are the most important thing,” Chloé proclaimed smiling widely.

“Is that why you like Adrien?” she bluntly asked.

Chloé was taken aback. The smile was dropped along with her hands.

* * *

While other students joked that their lives revolved around school, it really was the case for her. There was only one time that she was outside for a scene, not counting when she'd literally ran from the school to get away from it all.

There had to be more to life.

Adrien had introduced her to music, but she didn't have any data on her phone. There wasn't wireless internet for students to use at the school, sadly.

There were two computers in the library, though they were usually booked already. There seemed to be a waiting list at the desk to get a spot—either at break or lunch—and that was impossible for her when she couldn't keep track of time.

It turned into February.

She was up to forty minutes.

Her goal was to experience a whole lunch break.

It was the little things in life that kept her going—otherwise, she would've fallen apart from the realisation of what was happening. She tried to stay positive because if she wasn't on her side, then no one was.

She couldn't forget that she was alone.

Adrien had wandered over to her again.

“You look sick,” he said, standing beside her desk and looking at her with a curious expression.

“I can't get sick,” she replied, stretching her arms out behind her to make her back click. “I'm tired, that's all.”

He laughed at that. “It's only Wednesday.”

“Oh, is it?” she questioned. “It was Monday for me, like, an hour ago. I had no idea.”

“Are you new?” he asked.

“I got moved into your class on the down-low,” she told him, leaning in and talking quietly, making it seem like a big secret. “I didn't want to make a scene about it all, so the teachers agreed not to make a big fuss about it.”

He blinked. “You can do that?”

“Move classes, you mean?” she questioned. “Well, yeah. I got bumped up because this one's harder.”

He accepted that easily. “Oh, congratulations, then.”

She gave him a thumbs up. “I feel very smart.”

“I'm Adrien,” he said, offering her a smile that showed his teeth.

“Yeah, I know,” she replied.

He didn't question it. Instead, he gestured to the seat in front of her and asked, “Can I sit down?”

“You sure you want to?” she asked, leaning to the side to see whether his friends were lingering by the door. Surprisingly, they weren't. “You usually leave immediately.”

He was a bit taken aback. “Today wasn't your first day?”

“Did I say it was?” she countered.

“I guess not,” he agreed, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I... I wanted some alone time? And this classroom is one of the only ones we're allowed in during break, so.”

“You're not alone if I'm here,” she pointed out.

“That's okay,” Adrien assured her, sitting down, angling his body so he could face her. “I'd rather get to know you right now.”

There it was again.

She propped her head up with her hand. “Can I ask you a question?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

“What's it like to dream?”

He tilted his head. “To... dream?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, breathing out audibly. “Like, how would you describe it? Not the actual dreams, but the—”

“It's warm,” he said.

A smile curled on her lips. “Is it?”

“Yes?” It came out sounding like a question.

“That sounds nice,” she said wistfully. “As warm as your coat?”

He shifted in his seat. “My coat?”

“It does have fur on the inside,” she pointed out.

“You're right,” he agreed, glancing down at the piece of clothing in question. “It is warm.”

She slumped onto the desk, resting her cheek on her arm instead of the cold surface. “I'm jealous.”

“You're jealous... of my coat?” he asked.

“Have you seen mine?” she replied, gesturing vaguely behind to her chair. “It's not warm. I haven't even got scarf or gloves. Can you imagine how numb my hands get when it's snowy?”

“It snowed yesterday,” he said.

“It did?” she questioned with a frown. “There's none on the ground.”

He shrugged. “It didn't settle.”

“Life is strange,” she muttered, closing her eyes. “And so are you.”

“I am?” he asked.

“Why else would you be here with me?” she asked, smile not reaching her eyes. “You can't keep ditching your friends because you saw a mysterious pretty girl. You need to have _some_ priorities in life.”

He pointed out, “Technically, I ditched them before I saw you.”

That got a laugh out of her. “Is that right?”

“It's not that I don't like them,” Adrien rambled, talking quickly. “But it's—it's tiring? And sometimes it feels like that they don't actually care about what I have to say.”

“How would you feel if someone only wanted to spend time with you because you're pretty?” she questioned.

He made a strangled noise. “That's—that's not the only reason I'm here.”

“I didn't mean me,” she assured him, reaching out to touch his arm in what she hoped to be a comforting way. “I meant your friends.”

He was befuddled. “What?”

“It's not exactly a secret that you're attractive,” she mused, sitting up properly and taking her hand back. “Everyone's always gushed about how cute you are. And with how you can never say no to people? You're, like, the perfect person to have around to make others feel good.”

Adrien leaned back. “What... are you talking about?”

“It's not like this conversation even matters,” she muttered, brushing some hair behind her ear. “There's more to you than being eye candy.”

He swallowed. “You really think that?”

“Well, yeah,” she lamely replied. “You were the first one to notice me. It might be because you've got ulterior motives, but you're always nice to me. I appreciate that.”

His confusion only grew. “This is the first time we've met.”

“That you remember,” she said with a snap of her fingers. “You can't remember everything, right? There's only so much room in our little brains. Sadly, everyone forgets about me.”

“Are you... okay?” he asked slowly, looking at her in concern. At first, he raised his hand as though to reach out to her before letting it fall down to his lap. “You don't seem it.”

She sighed. “I don't really have a choice.”

“There's always a choice,” he tried to tell her.

“Adrien,” she said, not forcing her smile in the slightest. “Thank you.”

He frowned. “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because you keep caring about me.”

He shifted in his seat. “I'm... very confused.”

“That's pretty much my regular state of being now,” she mused. “Try and not do what others want you to, all right? At least one of us should live freely.”

“You're strange,” he remarked.

She laughed. “A bit.”

“You're really weird,” he added on, smiling for a moment before it disappeared, softening out to express his concern once more. “I don't think I would forget about you easily.”

“It's not your fault,” she told him. “I don't blame you.”

* * *

“Your hair's a mess,” Chloé insisted, rummaging through her backpack before bringing out a hairbrush. It was adorned with an intricate pattern on the back that looked expensive. “I'll fix it, hang on.”

That time, the scene had happened before school had officially started. Chloé had bumped into Adrien outside of the entrance, dropping her belongings, and he'd helped to pick them up. There had been barely any conversation between them, but it was deemed important enough for her to be a puppet.

There was ten minutes before registration started.

And rather than go into the classroom immediately, she lingered out, kicking some leftover snow out on the playground. It would be gone in a few hours or when there was another timeskip.

They'd gone through the usual questions already.

Chloé didn't think she was part of her imagination that time; rather, she was a class-mate that had only just gotten a glow-up. After all, pretty people were the only ones that Chloé gave attention to.

Even without a family, she thought that was messed up for Chloé's parents to teach her so early on.

Her hairband was tugged out and Chloé was surprisingly gentle when running the hairbrush through her hair. She didn't have to sit down on a wet bench to make it easier when their height difference was so prominent.

Like with Adrien, she came up to roughly Chloé's shoulder.

“There,” Chloé started, looking smug as she forcefully turned her around to face each other. “You look better now?”

She hadn't know how she'd looked before. “I do?”

“Yes,” Chloé insisted, fixing her bangs out before putting the brush away. “Are you wearing any make-up?”

“I dunno,” she answered, honest. “I woke up like this.”

Chloé snorted. “That's a good attitude.”

“I didn't have time to look in the mirror,” she said.

“Yeah, that was obvious from the kinks in your ponytail,” Chloé replied with a roll of her eyes. “No one's going to take you seriously if you turn up looking like a slob.”

She looked down. “Is my skirt too long?”

“It suits you.”

That wasn't what Chloé had said before. “It does?”

“You've got the whole innocent schoolgirl thing going on,” Chloé said, gesturing to all of her. “The long skirt really ties that in. It'll stop you from getting detention, so that's good.”

“I've never had detention,” she mused. “Is it bad?”

Chloé shrugged. “It's boring.”

“What's it like?” she questioned.

“Boring,” Chloé repeated, smoothing out her coat before taking a step towards the door to the school. “Come sit beside me.”

“You sit with Alya,” she pointed out.

“There's another seat,” Chloé replied without hesitation. “I want to talk to you more. Come.”

And instead of waiting, Chloé grabbed onto her wrist and started to pull her inside.

She laughed. “You're not taking no for an answer, are you?”

Chloé continued dragging her.

There was a free seat on the other side of Chloé. For once, she was sat down in it instead of behind, leaving her usual table empty.

Chloé was looking at her expectantly.

She touched her cheek. “What?”

“Name?” Chloé asked.

“You'll find out when Miss Bustier's here,” she replied.

Chloé accepted that answer.

For a while, they didn't talk about anything in particular. Chloé started to rant about a TV show that she'd finished the night before, looking at her for input between complaints. Alya came in a few minutes later and easily joined the conversation, filling in the silence where she didn't know what to say.

Alya didn't question who she was after Chloé had said she's their class-mate. Perhaps it was from embarrassment of knowing her before; Alya had had that reaction once in the past.

While the two of them were conversing, switching to another topic that she didn't know, she looked over her shoulder.

Adrien was staring at her.

She waved.

He waved back, confused.

She was aware long enough to walk with Chloé to her next class. Alya had walked off to talk to someone else, leaving the two of them alone.

Adrien walked past without Chloé even noticing him.

She didn't get a chance to question it.

* * *

Chloé and Adrien ate lunch together for a scene.

Once again, she was on the edge of the room. There were empty tables in the dining hall, and yet, she was never given permission to sit down on one when she was a puppet. It seemed that she was there to fill up the background and make the room look for crowded, even if she never moved.

The bell rang before the scene ended.

And when she was able to move, she walked to the next classroom, slumping down in her seat with a sigh. Although she wasn't starving, there was a distinct emptiness in her stomach that day that was satisfied by watching everyone else eat.

It was one of the classes where Adrien sat in front of her.

Instead of talking with his friends, he put his bag down on the table and placed his head on it.

No one asked him whether he was okay.

His friends had gone to their own seats, talking with each other and ignoring him.

It wasn't normal behaviour for him at all; Adrien was usually bright and full of smiles, and the only times she'd seen him acting off had been in the downtime between scenes where he said that he needed a break from socialisation.

But—

It was downtime at that moment. The only reason she was surprised to see it was because he hadn't approached her that time.

He didn't react when his pencil case fell out of his bag.

She reached down to get it, getting out of her seat to gently place it onto his desk.

Adrien's eyes snapped open.

“It fell,” she offered as her explanation.

He didn't address that. “Do I know you?”

“I sit behind you,” she said, going back to her seat.

Sitting up, he turned around to look at her with a furrowed brow. The scrunch of his eyebrows was still as cute as it had been the first time she'd seen it.

He didn't sound entirely convinced as he continued on to say, “I do know you.”

“I doubt it,” she mused, propping her elbow up on the desk to rest her cheek in her hand. “I'm not exactly a recognisable person? I mean, I've sat behind you for years and you've never even looked at me before, so.”

“No, I—” Adrien made a frustrated noise as he ran his fingers through his hair. “We've spoken before. I know it.”

She shrugged.

“You...” Adrien trailed off, struggling to find the right words. The way he frowned while thinking was cute, too. “I know you.”

“Sure, buddy,” she replied, humouring him. “Tell me more about it next time, yeah? The teacher's here.”

Even in the time between scenes, she didn't try and learn the material on the board. Regardless of if she could understand it, the answers would only turn out wrong for tests and the inevitable exams in the future.

So, she glanced around the room instead.

Chloé was looking at her.

She flashed her a peace sign.

Chloé's lips parted, but no words came out.

It was a little odd.

Adrien tried to turn around and talk to her when the teacher had to find the next file to show them. It resulted in him being sent out into the hallway for disrupting the class when he'd laughed at her response.

Chloé was still staring at her after that.

* * *

There was a problem.

After another scene of Chloé and Alya discussing what to do about Chloé's crush—concluding that they'd have a sleepover to brainstorm that weekend—the final bell of the day rang, followed by the loud click that indicated it was her free time.

She didn't have anywhere to go.

There wasn't any more money in her purse.

She put on her coat sadly, cursing the lack of accessories to keep her warm, shoved her hands into her pocket after her backpack was on, and trudged out of the school. There was only a bit of ice on leftover on the ground.

A few students were lingering and waiting for vehicles to pick them up by the street, others had already started to walk away, and she went through the gates to look side-to-side, trying to decide which way she wanted to go.

Adrien was there.

He was standing up slumped against the wall, bundled up in his winter clothes, scarf almost covering his mouth, and the slant of his eyebrows told her everything she needed to know about his mood.

It wasn't her problem—

But he'd never told her to go away before. Thus far, he'd always perked up at her appearances.

“Hey,” she greeted, shivering a little as she lifted her shoulders up in an attempt to be warm. “You waiting for your parents?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, not looking up from his feet.

She joined him, resting back against the wall with her hands stuffed into her pockets. They'd must've looked quite a sight when he was taller, in better clothing, and significantly in a worse mood, enough so for it to show on his face.

“Do you have to wait here a lot?” she questioned. “I never normally make it this far, so I don't really know what I'm doing.”

“What?” Adrien questioned. Then, as he lifted his head to look at her, his surprise showed on his face. “It's you.”

She tilted her head. “It's me?”

“You're—you,” he lamely said.

She nodded.

“I don't know you,” Adrien said, standing up properly and turning to face her to give her his full attention instead of being slumped. “But there's something familiar about you.”

“We're in the same class,” she helpfully told him. “I don't stand out much, that's all.”

He blurted, “You complimented my coat.”

She blinked. “I haven't today.”

“And I saw you with Chloé,” he added on, rushing through his words. “Today in registration. You were sitting beside her.”

“Oh, was that today?” she asked. “I'm not good at keeping up with the days any more.”

He stared.

It was then it clicked what he'd just said.

“You—you _remember_ me?” she questioned loudly, gesturing rapidly between them. “What do you remember?”

Adrien's expression was befuddled. “You're always saying weird things.”

It wasn't supposed to be like that. No one had remembered her weird remarks, hadn't called her out on her weird outbursts back in the beginning when she'd been covered in paint or chopping at her hair in an attempt to realise that she was _real—_

For all the months that had passed, no one had seen her.

She couldn't get her hopes up only to be disappointed.

“Tell you what,” she started, dropping her gaze down to her shoes. “Tell me this again tomorrow and then we'll talk.”

“Wait, you said that _before_ —”

She ran away.

* * *

It wasn't as though she had the whole weekend to worry about seeing him the next. For her, it was half an hour later when time skipped ahead, thrusting her into the following week without a break.

She had new shoes on.

They were warmer than the last pair, at least.

The scene was Chloé and Alya in class. Valentine's was coming up soon, so they'd both attempted to melt and re-shape some chocolates, only for it to end up in disaster. Chloé was mourning her shirt that she'd splattered in chocolate, while Alya had gotten told off by her parents for making a mess of the kitchen.

She would've laughed if she could.

For as much as Chloé spoke about doing something about her crush on Adrien, she didn't act like someone in love. Sure, Chloé had gotten angry at her for talking to Adrien before, but she wasn't gazing at him lovingly, let alone being able to hold more than a few conversations with him.

She wondered whether Chloé knew about his cat yet.

Chloé approached her first that day, offering to show her to her next class.

“Sure, thanks,” she accepted without question. “I'm new, so it'll be nice to be shown around.”

Chloé's smile showed her teeth. “I'll show you the best shortcuts.”

They'd barely made it down the hallway before Adrien had caught up, coming up to grab on her wrist as he blurted, “Wait.”

She looked at him in surprise.

Chloé bristled. “Can't you see I'm showing her already?”

That wasn't the reaction she'd expected.

“Wait, please,” Adrien said, only having eyes for her. He looked pale as he jumped back, letting go of her. “I need to talk to you.”

Deciding to hear him out, she turned to Chloé and asked, “Could you show me around later?”

Chloé sighed. “Fine.”

She smiled. “I'll see you in class.”

Chloé didn't smile back before walking away, not saying another word to Adrien.

“What's up?” she questioned, turning to face him. “Because you look like you're going to throw up.”

“I-I might,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Why wasn't your name called?”

Her pulse sounded in her ears. “In registration?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Miss Bustier didn't even _look_ at you, and—”

“And never questioned why someone was sitting there?” she helpfully supplied for him, a sort of excitement bubbling in her chest. “But you saw me.”

His eyes were wide. “You didn't say anything.”

Students were walking past them and scurrying off to their classrooms, not paying attention to them in the slightest. She was ignored despite standing in the middle of the hallway.

“I couldn't,” she admitted. “Could you?”

“I—what do you mean?” he rushed to get out, speaking in a whisper. “I'm not—”

She interrupted him to ask, “What did you do this weekend?”

He flinched. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember it?” she asked.

The second bell rang, indicating that class was about to start. They were still standing in the hallway, in plain sight of any teacher that looked out from their classroom.

When she beckoned for Adrien to follow her through the doors to walk around to the back of the building, he didn't protest.

“Do you remember the weekend?” she asked again.

“Yes?” he replied, the questioning lilt at the end making her wonder whether he was lying. “I didn't do anything special.”

“I don't remember my weekend,” she admitted, smile not reaching her eyes. “Time passes too quickly for me to make sense of it. So far, I've only been aware one time outside of school.”

He swallowed. “What... do you mean?”

“Are you experiencing weird things?” she questioned. “Like, you can't tell what day it is?”

“It's Monday,” he replied.

“Yes, thank you,” she said with a laugh. “I mean in general. Are you... are you missing any memories?”

His brow furrowed. “No?”

She pointed at her face. “But you recognise me.”

He wetted his lips. “You told me that everyone forgets you.”

“Because it's true,” she insisted. “In this universe, I'm a background character. No one notices me.”

“I notice you,” he whispered.

“And that's weird enough as it is,” she mused. “Why'd you want to talk to me?”

“You said to tell you tomorrow,” Adrien said, wide-eyed. “But tomorrow was—it was the weekend. I couldn't see you.”

She inhaled sharply. “You remember that?”

“Yes?”

Taking a step closer, she questioned, “What's your first memory of me?”

“You said you'd just moved into my classes,” Adrien recalled, voice coming out a bit wobbly, as if he was unsure. “And you... you liked my coat.”

“The fur's warm,” she recalled.

He shifted nervously. “Yes.”

“You gave it to me before,” she admitted.

He blinked. “No?”

“Adrien,” she started, looking up at him with a smile. The tip of his nose had started to turn red from the cold weather. It wasn't how he usually looked when he was shy. “When you ate lunch with Chloé the other day, did it feel like you?”

“What?” he whispered.

“Could you move freely?” she questioned, holding up her hand and spreading out her fingers. “Could you do this? Or even _blink_? I can't. I can only move my eyes when I'm in a scene.”

He made a strangled noise. “How do you—”

Her chest felt warm. “Did it feel like someone was controlling you?”

Adrien took a step back, panicked. “No, I—”

If she'd said that to anyone else, they would've laughed. His reaction was only confirmation that she was on the right track—and wasn't that _terrifying_? Adrien was practically a main character in the world, but he was suffering some of the same symptoms as her.

“All that matters is when we have to perform,” she said, aware of how utterly insane she was sounding. “Outside of that, it doesn't matter. Nothing important ever happens and it all gets reset with the next timeskip.”

“Timeskip?” Adrien questioned, his voice higher-pitched than normal. “That's not—time doesn't do _that_!”

She raised her eyebrows. “How do you explain skipping the whole weekend?”

“I didn't!” he exclaimed. “I already said that—”

There was a lump in her throat. “You remember it?”

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “That's what I've been trying to say!”

It wasn't the same.

Why would it be?

Adrien had a name, a family, and a home to return to. He wasn't like her with all that personal information missing.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably at that realisation.

“Oh,” she whispered.

He sounded desperate as he asked, “What's going on?”

Talking wasn't the best way to get her point across. She rummaged through her bag, turning on her phone to see how much time she had left before the timeskip.

“It's different for me,” she confessed, staring at the white screen as it loaded. And when the time popped up, she swallowed in an attempt to combat the dryness of her mouth. “I only have a few minutes. Forgive me for doing something so extreme, but you're not going to believe me otherwise.”

He was confused. “What?”

She clenched a fist.

Adrien started to say, “What are you—”

She punched herself in the face.

It hurt enough to make her cry as blood started to come out of her nose.

She felt bad for the time she'd hurt Chloé now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com/) ♥(*＾▽＾)／


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